Georgia Bottoms

by Mark Childress

  “Mommy, is she dead?”

  “She just fainted, honey,” said Brenda. “Ladies do that sometimes.”

  “Stand aside, folks, give her some air!” The courtly baritone of Judge Jackson Barnett came with the smell of peeled garlic, which he carried in his pockets and nibbled all day as a snack. No vampire would ever get hold of Judge Barnett. Georgia heard his knees pop as he crouched to take her hand.

  She let her eyes swim open. “Well hey, Judge. Where am I?”

  “Right here, Miss Georgia. In church.” The judge hid his concern behind a smile. “I believe you have swooned. Did you eat a good breakfast this morning?”

  “Why, I’m sure I did, I always do.” She tried to sit up but the men all said no! not yet! She let them talk her into lying back down. “How embarrassing! It’s the heat, I guess. I felt light-headed, I was going to get a drink of water, and next thing you know…” She made a keeling-over motion with her hand.

  “It’s not so much the heat,” said the judge, “as it is the humidity.”

  “You have a point,” Georgia said.

  “The important thing is, you’re fine,” said Brenda Hendrix. “If it were me, I would want to get up off the floor, get the blood circulating.”

  It must be killing Brenda to see Georgia at the center of all this attention. Look at the array of concerned gentlemen who had rushed to her side—the judge, Sheriff Allred, Lon Chapman of the First National Bank, Jimmy Lee Newton who owned the Light-Pilot, and here came Dr. Ted Horn to take her pulse. The most powerful men in town, shouldering one another aside to make a fuss over Georgia.

  Their wives were clucking over her too, offering their own stories of fainting. Everybody in Six Points loved Georgia. They had loved Little Mama when she ran the town switchboard, before private phone lines came in. When her daughter Georgia grew up to be beautiful and cheerful, they loved her too. She was all over town her whole life, mixed up in everything Six Points had to offer. How could anyone fail to love her? She hadn’t set out to become a star, but in a place like Six Points it was inevitable that someone with her qualities would either rise to the top, or get the hell out of town.

  “You think she’ll be all right, Doc?” Jimmy Lee Newton’s high-pitched giggle only came out when he was nervous.

  “Pulse is good,” said the doctor. “Georgia, you stay right here while I get my bag from the car.”

  “Oh Ted, come on, is that necessary?”

  “I think it is. Be a good girl, now.”

  Georgia had started this. She had to let it play out. She noticed Eugene Hendrix standing—no, hiding behind his wife, hands tucked into the folds of his black robe. When Georgia looked at him, he turned away. “Take her to the choir room,” he said to no one in particular. “There’s a sofa in there.”

  “Now Reverend, nobody needs to take anybody anywhere,” Georgia said in a tinkly voice. “Y’all, I’m fine. Would you let me sit up?” This time no one stopped her. “See? Much better. I just had a little spell, that’s all.”

  “The vapors,” said Martha Barnett, Mrs. Judge. “Lord knows we’ve all had ’em.” The other ladies agreed.

  The judge and Jimmy Lee helped Georgia to her feet. Half the congregation had crowded around to make sure she was all right. The other half were fleeing to their cars in case Eugene got a notion to resume his sermon.

  Georgia let them help her up two steps to the choir room. There was a sagging couch covered in green corduroy, beneath a decoupaged plaque of Jesus overturning the money changers’ table. The room reeked of Wednesday-night fellowship hall lasagna. Georgia hated the thought of her Ann Taylor suit steeping in that smell, but that’s why God created dry cleaners. She sank down on the sofa to wait for Ted Horn.

  Louise Gingles brought a cup of water and a damp paper towel. Martha Barnett told how her mother-in-law fainted at her own wedding, cracked her tailbone and spent her honeymoon in the Mobile Infirmary. “And sure enough, she was a sore-ass the rest of her life,” Martha said, her whiskey cackle punctuated by a cigarette cough, HA!

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Georgia said. “I’m just lucky I didn’t break anything.” She couldn’t wait to call Krystal and describe the scene: Six Points’ most prominent Baptists milling about the choir room, Brenda Hendrix patrolling the door to keep her precious Eugene away from the hussy on the sofa. Krystal didn’t know all the complications of Georgia’s life, but she knew more than anybody.

  “Have to ask you folks to step out, please.” Brandishing his doctor bag, Ted Horn cleared the room. He shut the door, and turned to Georgia. “Now, then. Are you pregnant?”

  “Oh hell no. No, Ted. Not possible.”

  “Anything is possible in a young, healthy, sexually active female, which pretty well describes you, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I’m glad you managed to work ‘young’ in there,” Georgia said. “I am not pregnant.” Not a chance. She took precautions, overlapping layers of precautions.

  Ted unlimbered his stethoscope. “When you passed out—it looked like somebody just switched off the lights. Probably just an everyday vasovagal syncope, but I’m going to examine you to be sure.”

  “This is so silly. Don’t you have any real patients who need you?” Secretly Georgia was thrilled that her performance had fooled a medical professional.

  Ted slid the steel disk of the stethoscope inside her blouse, his palm warm behind the cold circle. “When was your last period?”

  “Ted. Listen to me. I—am—not—pregnant. You hear me? You know how careful I am.”

  He grinned that rabbity grin. “Just answer the question.”

  “Two weeks ago? Two and a half. God. So personal.”

  “I’m your doctor.” He thumped her chest and listened.

  “I know what you are,” she said. “You are bad.”

  “Yes I am.” His voice softened. “I am very bad. I’ve been naughty.”

  “You have. A very naughty doctor. You need to be punished.”

  “Shhh…” He moved the stethoscope to her back. “Okay, deep breath—let it out slow. And again.” He sat back. “Listen, why don’t we go to my office and run an EKG. Just to be safe.”

  “Ted. I’m fine. Don’t ask me how I know, but I know. I fainted. It’s over. Case closed.”

  “I don’t tell you how to be Gorgeous Georgia. Don’t tell me how to be a physician.” He massaged her jawline, feeling her nodes and glands. “Come on. Quick little EKG.”

  “I can’t! You know somebody has already called Little Mama, she’ll be hysterical any minute, I have to drive Brother to his meeting and my September luncheon is Tuesday—”

  “Okay, okay.” He poked a nozzle into her ear. “Were you listening to that sermon?”

  “Not really,” she lied.

  “Sounds like Preacher Eugene’s feeling a little guilty about something.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Georgia. “Probably cheats on his wife.”

  “You call Debra first thing in the morning, she’ll work you in. I want to run blood, check a few things.”

  Georgia crossed her fingers where he could see them. “I promise.”

  “You better,” said Ted. “And, uhm—Wednesday?”

  “Of course Wednesday,” said Georgia.

  He snapped shut his bag. “Go home and put your feet up. Read a book. Don’t do anything else today. That’s doctor’s orders. And tomorrow I’m getting that EKG. If I have to come over there and drag you to my office.”

  She shook her head. “You just want me out of my clothes.”

  He fixed her with a look: I won’t dignify that. He opened the door to reveal Brenda Hendrix’s ear more or less pressed against it.

  “Oh hey, Dr. Horn,” she sang, bustling in. “How’s our little patient?” No one could have missed the note of fake concern in her voice.

  “Much better, Brenda,” said Georgia. “Thank you for asking.”

  Ted waved, and ducked out the door. Georgia’s mob of well
-wishers had dispersed. Eugene was nowhere to be seen.

  Brenda planted her fists on her hips. “You get up from that couch.”

  Georgia felt a twinge of panic. She never intended to be left alone with Brenda Hendrix. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We both know there’s nothing wrong with you. Physically, anyway.”

  Georgia batted her sapphire eyes with the long, long Maybelline lashes. That would drive Brenda crazy with her squinty pink pig eyes and that pig nose on her face. Georgia wondered what could ever have attracted Eugene to this woman. Even fifteen years and four children ago, that would not have been a pretty face. “Brenda, is something the matter?”

  “Don’t you play innocent with me. I know what you’ve been up to with my husband.”

  “All this heat must have gone to your head,” said Georgia. “Bless your heart, you’re delusional.”

  So Eugene spilled it all to his wife without a word of warning to Georgia? How typical!—to take for granted that Georgia would be standing by, ready to upend her own life to help him through his midlife crisis.

  Every man thinks any woman would be lucky to have him. When it’s always the other way around.

  “You didn’t fool anybody with that display out there,” said Brenda. “You knew what Gene was going to say, and you wanted to stop him.”

  “I did stop him.” Georgia maintained her smile. “You should be glad I did. Or did you want him to blab it to the world?”

  “Oh, he has to tell,” Brenda said. “It’s the only way he can come clean with his Lord. Gene knows he got his own self into this mess. And he’s going to need the help of not just the Lord but his whole church family to get out of it.”

  “That is really so interesting,” Georgia said.

  “You didn’t stop anything,” said Brenda. “You just postponed it.”

  Poor Eugene. To let himself be run over by this bulldozer—and for nothing! Georgia didn’t want to marry him anyway! He was a nice diversion on a Saturday night, but one night a week was enough.

  He must have had to do some big-time confessing when he got home last night. Which is how he wound up in the pulpit with this gun to his head.

  Georgia was tired of acting ladylike. She was ready to move on to the slapping and hair pulling. She was strong, she could take this tub of lard with no difficulty. “I don’t think there’s any need for a scene, do you, Brenda? You want your girls to hear?”

  “How dare you. You leave my girls out of this!”

  Georgia spoke softly. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “Damn it, Brenda!” Out of his holy robes, in khaki Dockers and a white shirt, Eugene Hendrix looked unmistakably mortal. “I told you I’d talk to her!”

  Brenda whirled on him. “Where are the babies?”

  “Outside. There’s plenty of folks out there to keep an eye on them.”

  “You left them by themselves? Are you out of your mind? Have you forgot about JonBenét? You go back out there this instant! I’m handling this.”

  Eugene looked relieved to have an order to obey. He turned to go.

  “Eugene, don’t you move,” Georgia said. “You told her about us?”

  He stopped. His face flushed red. “She found out.”

  “He was calling you from our home,” Brenda wailed, “like I’m too stupid to listen in on the extension?”

  Georgia turned to Eugene. “Dummy, if you wanted to leave your wife for me, don’t you think you could have discussed it with me first?”

  She couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face—confusion and something oddly out of place. Sympathy? She plunged ahead.

  “I did the only thing I could think of, Eugene. I couldn’t sit there and let you ruin my life—and your life, too! What were you thinking?”

  “I have to come clean,” he said. “This sin is weighing so heavy on me. It’s pressing down on my soul. I’ve been living a lie, Georgia. I can’t go on like this.”

  He didn’t sound at all like himself. He sounded like the guy who’d had to explain it to Brenda last night.

  “Eugene, listen to me. I don’t want you to leave her. I don’t want to marry you. Do you understand?”

  “Marry? That’s a hoot,” Brenda said. “What makes you think he would ever leave me? And our babies? For a tramp like you?”

  “Now come on, Brenda,” Eugene huffed, “there’s no need for that kind of thing.”

  Georgia said, “One of us is crazy, Eugene. Who is it? Her or me?”

  “Tell her, Gene,” cried Brenda, “tell her what you were going to say when she put on her little fainting act.”

  Eugene’s eyes didn’t make it all the way up to meet Georgia’s. He pressed his lips together, looked at the floor, and sighed as men do: None of this is my fault.

  That’s when Georgia understood the truth. Brenda was not the fool in the room. Georgia was.

  Eugene was not leaving his wife. He was staying with her.

  No doubt this was mostly Brenda’s doing, but Eugene had to be in on it too. They’d worked it out between them. In a desperate attempt to save their marriage, Eugene intended to denounce Georgia in front of the congregation as a home wrecker, a wicked woman. Never mind that he was the one skulking down the alley to Georgia’s garage apartment every Saturday night, it was always Eugene who came to see Georgia. Never the other way around.

  Georgia didn’t know why she was attracted to men like this—the good-looking, nice-seeming, treacherous type. She vowed to start working on that as soon as she got the hell out of this church.

  “What we did was just plain wrong, Georgia, you can’t argue with that.” That was Eugene, trying to convince himself.

  “If that’s the way you want it,” said Georgia. “But you better not go making any public statements. There might be a few things you might not want told.”

  Brenda made a face. “Like what?”

  “Like that cowboy hat you wear when you’re riding the horsey, Brenda.” Georgia winked. “What is it you always yell? Giddyup? Go horsey?”

  “Gene!” she shrieked. “You told her that?”

  “You can’t make this stuff up,” Georgia said. “And if you think I’m too shy to go tell it on the mountain, you might want to think again.”

  “Oh, now you’re threatening me?” Brenda cried.

  Georgia said, “I’ve been coming to this church all my life. Y’all have been here what, five years? I’ll be sitting in that pew when the two of you are just a vague memory.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Brenda.

  “Brenda. You want your husband?” said Georgia. “Take him home. Good luck keeping him there, by the way.” A nagging voice said, Get out of here, Georgia. Fix this later. Just go.

  Brenda wasn’t quite finished. “You put on all these airs like some pillow of the community. Prancing around like you own this town. People ought to know exactly what kind of woman you are.”

  Eugene winced at his wife’s misapprehension of the word “pillar.” He looked embarrassed that Georgia had this close-up glimpse of the woman he’d been married to for fifteen years.

  Until this moment Georgia had felt mostly sorry for him, but that wince made her hate him thoroughly, all at once. How dare he look down his nose at his fat unattractive wife, who put up with his cheating and his endless wandering sermons, and gave him four lovely daughters! He must have known what a cow she was when he married her. How dare he wince at her now!

  Georgia whirled on him. “You spent three hours at my house last night and couldn’t find a moment to mention this to me? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Last night?” Brenda began squawking, flapping her wings. “But he—Gene, you were at Fellowship Circle last night!”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t a circle,” said Georgia. “Although we definitely did have some fellowship. How many times, Eugene? Was it three? Look at that hickey on his neck, Brenda, did you even notice? Of course not. You really should pay more attention.” Georgia pushed u
p from the couch. “He spent half the evening lying to me, then he went home to lie to you. That’s the one thing he’s really good at. Believe me, honey, you do have a problem. But I ain’t it.”

  Eugene looked horrified. His hand went to the spot on his neck. He must not have noticed in the mirror this morning, but his hand knew just where to go. “Now wait a minute,” he said.

  Georgia sailed out the door. “Y’all have a nice day.”

  2

  Four little Hendrix girls sat on the curb beside their father’s rust-colored Dodge minivan. They looked perplexed by the absence of anyone telling them what to do. Georgia started to call out, Don’t worry, your parents will be out soon, get up off the dirt in those nice dresses—but why should she trouble herself with those brats? Let them sit there all day. Who cares?

  The nerve of some people! A good cloud of anger had built up in the back of Georgia’s head, a cumulonimbus with a broad purple base. She stormed over the heat-shimmering asphalt, thinking how little she needed a lecture on morals from the fat wife of Preacher Eugene, who stood by watching the confrontation with all the authority of the shriveling organ he had turned out to be.

  Georgia climbed into her four-wheeled Honda oven, cranked the engine, turned the A/C to MAX. Anger would get her nowhere. She must not let it overpower her.

  The hot air blasting from the dash began to pale into coolness. Georgia buried her face in the airflow, massaging her temples with the pads of her thumbs.

  What was the name? A name from long ago. Friend of Little Mama’s, a big man, used to come to town all the time to visit a cousin. Another Rolodex card coming up blank.

  Jolly Santa Claus cheeks and a boisterous laugh.

  She was still trying to visualize the letters of his name an hour later, as she lugged the sacks from Hull’s Market through the deep-freezer porch. Whizzy the white-spotted mutt whined, swatted his tail, and twisted around to put himself as much in the way as possible. “Get out of here, Whizzy, go on! Mama, who was that man from the Baptist convention?”

  Little Mama looked up from the pan of purple hull peas she was shelling. “What man?”